When we first arrived about ¼ century ago, prior to which our residece was well over a hundred miles away, we inherited a mature cherry tree in the corner of the grotto adjacent to the detached garage. It seemed to be on its last legs, but twelve months later showed significant signs of recovery. The ivy took over to fill the tree, making the entire setting picturesque in the extreme. All was well until two years ago when a neighbouring property to the west decided to put down a patio in the north-east corner of their garden. To do this, the hired gardeners dug deep in that corner where once a wooden shed had stood, and, discovering a bevy of roots (originating from the ivy and cherry tree) proceeded to put down poison. First the lush ivy withered, followed, slowly, by the cherry tree. When we noticed that even a sparrow alighting on a twig would snap it off, causing it to instantly fall, we realised that the entire tree would follow suit. It was dying; indeed, it was in its last days. The decision was reluctantly taken to put it out of its misery before a heavy branch landed on somebody's head and did some serious damage. Tree surgeons were called in, but only one could act swiftly enough for our liking. Thus, yesterday, they arrived to take away our dead cherry tree. Nice chaps who knew what they were doing, it should be said, and we were not too upset watching the tree fall piecemeal. Adieu!
